


All This for a Bowl of Spaghetti

by Ellerigby13



Series: Harlequin Prompts 2020 [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mild Breathplay, Snark, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/pseuds/Ellerigby13
Summary: There's no kind of thief worse than a spaghetti thief.  Darcy's got a grudge against Steve that can only be resolved horizontally.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Series: Harlequin Prompts 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619725
Comments: 20
Kudos: 232
Collections: MHEA Harlequin Hoopla Prompt Challenge 2020





	All This for a Bowl of Spaghetti

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics are Beth Ditto's "Fire" :)

“Fuck this guy.”

Jane lifts her eyes from the latest project, her glasses sliding comically down her nose, and it would be funnier, if Steve I-can-eat-whoever’s-fucking-spaghetti-I-want Rogers’s fine American ass weren’t strolling its way into the lab to chit chat with Bruce. It’s not that Darcy wants him to apologize - they’re past that. To get back into her good graces for the cardinal sin of stealing her  _ marked _ food, he’d have to set up a whole goddamn spaghetti dinner, a la Lady and the Tramp, and stand over her playing the accordion while she eats. Then, she might  _ think  _ about forgiving him.

“Ladies,” he says, as he passes their lab station, a ridiculous smirk on his face, and proceeds on to talk to Tony, leaning forward against the table with his hips thrown back.

“Asshole,” Darcy mutters, glancing back to her work.

“I hardly think your issues with him have to do with him eating your  _ spaghetti _ .” Jane scritches her pen to her journal, and crouches a little to inspect the spring mechanism on her latest project.

“They have everything to do with him eating my spaghetti. The bowl had my name on it, right on the top, one; two, I was specifically excited to eat that spaghetti that day, because you and I had been working really hard; and three, he didn’t even stop when I caught him! He just looked at me and kept on eating!” She gestures wildly with her own pen. “Douche. Bag.”

Jane glances skeptically at her. “You do take your food seriously. I wouldn’t get between you and a bowl of spaghetti on a  _ good  _ day.”

“Wise choice. Besides, he’s always smug with me when we have our floor meetings. ‘I don’t believe that would be conducive to the way we usually take on problems, Miss Lewis. You’re alright with filing this for me, aren’t you, Miss Lewis?’ Like, we get it, buddy! You’re Captain America. Big fuckin’ whoop.”

“That’s odd. We work together - you’d think maybe he’d give me a hard time, too.”

“Yeah, you have your PhD. I am but a lowly lab assistant and part-time Avenger paper-filer. You’re...Doctor Foster.”

“You went to more college than Steve Rogers ever did,” Jane points out, not looking up from her work. “He dropped out, remember?”

“He also saves whole-ass countries on a regular basis. And his whole-ass doesn’t quit.” She presses her chin into the palm of her hand, glaring at the beautiful round donk that Steve had sheathed in a pair of gray sweats for his workout today. Even in sweats it was pronounced enough to ogle. Which, apparently, some of the interns have noticed as well. “Lexi. Back to work, dude.”

“You were looking, too,” Lexi grumbles, and returns to Bruce’s elbow to assist with some gamma study stuff; radiation had never been Darcy’s forte.

“Still,” Jane continues, and grabs her Phillips head to adjust one of the screws holding up the small tower in front of her, “I’d be surprised if he didn’t tease you because he likes you.”

“Captain America? Janey, to quote my second favorite Alicia Silverstone role, ‘as if.’”

“To quote your first favorite Alicia Silverstone role, ‘yeah.’”

“When does she ever say ‘yeah’ in  _ Batman & Robin _ ?”

“Statistically, she’s probably said it at least once. I thought appealing to your actual favorite movie, which you won’t tell anyone is your favorite movie, might help you be honest. With the possibility that maybe you like him too.”

“Ugh. Cher Horowitz, light of my life, darling of my heart, forgive me for invoking you twice in such a short span of time, but Janey. As.  _ If _ .”

“You just said you like his ass.”

Darcy throws her hands up, too exhausted to even gesture with her pen. “Everybody likes his ass. It’s America’s ass. And if you’re going to pull some shit on me about liking the rest of him, of course I do. He’s built like a Dorito, and this gal loves her some cool ranch. But his royal douchiness negates any of that. Like I said, he can buy his way back into my good graces with spaghetti equal to or better than the spaghetti he scarfed up. Till then, he’s but a beautiful slab of USDA man meat to me.”

Jane raises an eyebrow over the rim of her glasses, and for a second, it looks like there could be a smile tugging on her lips. “That’s not very Fourth Wave feminist of you.”

* * *

One of the greatest perks of working in Avengers Tower at the second-highest level security clearance is the freedom to roam most of the building at any time Darcy likes. It feels a bit like Harry Potter, traversing the corridors with no fear for Filch or Mrs. Norris catching her out of bed. When she can’t get to sleep by one, she swipes her keycard for the gym on the sixteenth level and gets busy wrapping her hands for her favorite punching bag. 

It had started in high school when her dad dropped her off to see a play her friend Mikey was in, and almost the moment she stepped out of his car, a couple of douchebags in a lifted truck shouted out something about her tits, what exactly she couldn’t remember. That night, after he picked her up, he announced to his steering wheel that she was signed up for kickboxing, and would be starting the following week.

Kickboxing and late-night punching bags have kept her from starting real fights, punching real assholes in the head.

Like stupid sexy Captain Spaghetti.

She pulls her headphones over her ears, puts on her fight list, and bounces on her toes before taking her fists to the bag in front of her to the crescendoing tunes of Beth Ditto.

_ Get up up up up up up up _

_ If you want my want my want my love _

_ Get up up up up up up up _

_ If you want my want my love _

_ Fire, fire _

_ Bless my soul, that’s the way it is _

_ Bless my soul, I can’t resist _

The guitar picks up, and she picks up her own rhythm, feeling her ponytail bouncing behind her. Left, right, jab, kick. Left, left, right, kick.

Sweat trickles down her nose, and she feels her short bursts of breath blowing them away. Captain Douchebag’s face floats in front of the bag, and she imagines catching him in his stupid perfect cheekbone - 

A hand - a  _ finger _ \- touches her shoulder, and before she can stop herself, she’s whirling around with a closed fist -

And finds herself disappointed when Steve Rogers himself grabs it, keeping it from even putting a skidmark on that stupid perfect cheekbone. He doesn’t let go right away, and she has to take her headphones off with her free hand. Her heart jumps before it figures out how to slow.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, feeling the breath escape her all too quickly. He smiles and finally lets go of her hand.

“You beat me to the punching bag. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

He nods noncommittally toward the boxing ring Stark had insisted on installing. “Want a sparring partner?”

“Aren’t you worried about breaking my fragile, normal little bones?” She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, then hits pause on her headphones. His eyes roll back so far she’s positive he can see his own muscular brain.

“You’re perfectly capable of defending yourself. And I spar with Nat plenty, never bang her up too bad.”

“Terrible choice of words,” she says, shaking her head, and against her better judgment, steps into the ring anyway. “Fine. I’ll take some frustration out. Even though Nat’s a trained assassin and I’m...you know, just a lab assistant.”

He frowns when she says it, but quickly wraps his own hands and thankfully doesn’t respond right away, except to ask if she’s ready.

Darcy trades a few blows and blocks with him, feels him holding back. She lashes out harder, jab, kick, swing, punch -

She catches him in the jaw, and after just a tiny, miniscule, brief moment of satisfaction, a gasp rips out of her middle, and she reaches for him, like she wants to apologize or take it back or....

His fingers close around her wrist, feather-light this time, and when he pulls her to his chest, a rush of something inexplicable shoots from her chest straight down to her toes. He’s got a good foot on her at least, and her line of sight barely clears his collarbone, but his nose brushes against hers, suddenly making Darcy aware of how hard they’re breathing, how warm and pink his skin is, how close he is to her.

“What are you...why?”

“I like you,” he says simply, one hand fastening around her waist, and he backs her up against the ropes. “I like how passionate you are, how smart you are, how you blush when I give you a hard time…”

“You ate my spaghetti.”

“And I will make you a homemade replacement and stand over you playing the accordion like you wanted.” He’s smiling, so close now that she can feel his cheeks split wide, can taste the toothpaste on his breath.

“You heard that?”

“Super serum.” How exactly did her hands find themselves on his shoulders? And why is he waiting to...do whatever it is he’s going to do? “Okay if I kiss you, Miss Lewis?’

She looks at his lips, then to the soft blue of his eyes, and moves her head up and down just a little. “Yeah.”

His hands close on her waist, and then Steve I-can-eat-whoever’s-fucking-spaghetti-I-want Rogers slants his mouth over hers, those perfect lips tasting just as soft and sweet as she’d suspected they were. He takes her lower lip between his teeth, his tongue sweeping lazily over her flesh, and she can feel herself melting from the inside out, hot and lightheaded and drunk with desire.

She slips her tongue out to meet his, to tangle in his mouth, and then his hands smack onto the underside of her thighs, lifting her off the ground and pulling her legs around his waist so he can press her into a corner, pin her against it. He’s hard, through his sweats, and if she’d forgotten the unsexiness of a sports bra and basketball shorts combination, it doesn’t really seem to matter now. One heavy, calloused palm lifts the band of her bra up and rips it over her head, her tits spilling free against his chest.

He presses his forehead to hers, a playful light in his eyes. “Okay?”

“Shut up, dude -  _ oh. _ ”

Instead, Steve shuts her up with a peppering of kisses and nips to the underside of her ear, her neck, down her collarbone. She rolls her hips against him when he takes her nipple into his mouth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. She grips the hair at the back of his neck, and he slides a free hand down her stomach, past the waistband of her shorts.

“You’re very wet.”

“ _ Mm _ .”

He kisses her again, and, with an almost ghostlike touch, presses his middle finger to her aching clit, sending a golden wave from her pussy all the way down to her bones.

She rides his hand until she can’t stand it anymore, until the words coming out of her mouth don’t sound like her voice because they’re hoarse and high and lost with begging, crying for him to fill her already, to fuck her already. When she opens her eyes, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Stop thinking so loud,” she mutters, and pushes his hand away. He’s about to protest, but she covers his mouth with hers, then lets her feet drift back down beneath her and forces her body against his, till he gets the point. “Sit.”

He hits the mat ass first, splaying his hands out behind him to hold up the massive Dorito-ness of his torso, and Darcy slides the waistband of his sweats down so that she can take a look at exactly what he’s packing.

And she’s not disappointed. Steve is thick, pink, uncut, not pornstar-length, but definite spank bank material for a later time. He licks his lips, reaching for her waist, and pulls her into his lap to tease every bit of exposed skin he can find with his mouth. She rolls her hips over him, feels his cock brushing her lips through her shorts, then leans forward to grip the bottom of his shirt and lift it over his head.

“Mhm,” she muses, in the sparse moment that she gets to eyeball him before his hands are on her again, rough and warm and large, pulling her flush to him, until they’re separated only by her shorts.

“Need to be inside you, Darce.” The words splash out clumsily over her chest, as if he’ll die if he can’t touch her, kiss her, fuck her. 

She pulls away, crouching, and kicks the last of her clothes off, before straddling his thighs. She tests the feeling of his cock in her hand, and it jerks against her fingertips. Steve begins to groan, his strong hands closing over the plush of her ass, so hard they’re certain to leave bruises for her to wake up to; she likes teasing him, and rocks her hips just inches from his cock.

“You need to ask me nicely,” she whispers, leaning so close to Steve’s ear that her tits spill into his chest, and he could grab her right now if he wanted to, fuck her till she couldn’t see straight, but instead he lifts his head, his eyes soft and blue and terribly dangerous.

“Please,” he breathes, and drops his lips to her nipple again. She feels his teeth grazing her skin after his tongue touches down, his eyes still locked on hers. One hand loosens on her ass, drifting forward to press insistently again on her clit.

She straightens, pulling him between her thighs, and slides the blunt tip of him along her sex, before she lowers herself onto him, sinking languidly onto his cock. Every inch feels impossibly full, but with every inch she longs more and more to be full of him, to hear him keening beneath her, to feel him bucking into her.

“Steve,” she sighs, propping herself up by gripping his shoulders, and rocks onto him slowly, easing herself to his thickness. “Shit - ”

He slides his free hand up her front, gripping gently on her neck. The soft pressure draws a low, husky moan from deep inside her, as he rolls his hips to meet her in the middle. She can’t help but gasp, reacting to his sudden movement, his cock jerking up into her, before she rocks her hips again, and again.

He dips his head to her chest again, his teeth closing hard over the soft spot below her collarbone. She cries out, the pain and pleasure sending a wave of warmth from her core all the way down to her toes.

“Fuck -  _ fuck _ …”

She can barely tell if it’s coming out of his mouth or hers, barely remember what it was like not to have his cock inside of her. Her fingers bury themselves in his hair, and before she can figure out how not to come unraveled at his fingertips, he’s slipping an arm around her waist and laying her out on the mat. She squeezes her legs around his waist, feels his cock hit deep.

His hips snap against hers, the new angle allowing him to meet her mouth. “God, you’re so beautiful. Fuck, doll…”

Her hands still tangled in his hair, she digs her heels into the dimples above his ass and swipes her tongue out over his lower lip. “Harder, Steve.”

He picks up his tempo, jerking into her, and she finally slips her hand out from his hair to press her middle finger to her clit between them, a steady pressure rising in her, just below her navel.

He chokes out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, and between the uneven rhythms of his cock, her finger, and the friction of her ass bouncing with each thrust of his pelvis, the pressure erupts between her shaking legs.

Moments later, Steve’s breath turns ragged, and he twitches abruptly, spilling into her with a long, low grunt. He drops his forehead to hers, and she can hear the smile through his breathless return to Earth.

“You okay?” she asks, more tenderly than she ever thought she’d manage with him. He pulls out of her slowly, and laughs a little as he swipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Lot better than okay. Was  _ that  _ okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” She grins, and blows out one last heavy sigh. “Fuck. My bra over there?”

He hands it over and slides his sweats out from under her ass. “So, uh...does it still count as me making it up to you by takin’ you out for spaghetti? Don’t think I can manage homemade right now, sweetheart.”

She sits up, leaning across to peck him briefly on the lips. “Yes. But I still expect an accordion.”


End file.
